Skate
by Epicly-Later'd
Summary: Based loosely of Steven Chbozky's the Perks of Being a Wallflower. Who would've known skating could save someone's life? Maybe it's not as destructive and terrible as society loves to make it out to be.


"Why does life suck?" Jenny said, staring at the ground below her, kicking up a small cloud of dirt with her feet.

"I…Dunno. Why?" I knew the real question she was asking, but I wasn't about to answer it.

"Because…Well, why'd she have to go?" She inquired again, this time though, her voice seemed weaker, like the words hurt to say.

"Because God loves her," I said with less-than-genuine enthusiasm. I would have added a half-smile, but even though I had grown to be an expert at hiding emotion, I felt like crap.

"But I loved her more!" Tears began to well behind her eyes as she fought desperately to keep them back. "She didn't deserve to leave! I _need_ her."

"You'll see her again. I promise." The thing is, I didn't really know. I was making it all up, like I'd done so many times before. At the moment though, my mind felt like it had gone through a mine field, and it hit every explosive on the way. I hugged her, watching a small puddle of tears accumulate on my shoulders from the friend. We sat at the bottom step of the Hospice, and I felt like I was bleeding inside; every breath inducing a new, deep cut to my weakening soul. I wanted to escape my skin and fly away, leaving this town and life behind

"I… ca-can't deal with this anymore," She replied, head hung low. With each word came a new wave of sobs.

Tears blurred my vision but still managed to cling to my eyes as I dragged myself across the open casket at the funeral. I turned my head away, not wanting to look at my best friend's mother any longer. Although the pain was gone and it was the most peaceful I had seen her since she was first diagnosed, to see her here yet no longer breathing ripped apart every good memory I've ever had.

I took a seat near the front, listening to the Pastor talk in nothing more than a heartless monotone. The service seemed to be elongated to infinity; the preacher slurred out hollow, meaningless words endlessly and several babies proceeded to burst out crying the whole time. By the time I got out of the gargantuan chapel and away from the over-dosage of noise, I was in a sufficiently terrible mood. I wanted to kill the reverend for being stupid. After the service, I went skating to compose myself.

I rolled down the 6-foot quarter pipe effortlessness to gain speed as I approached a rail. Snapping my tail, dragging my foot and twisting slightly to the left shot me into a front-side nose-slide across the hard, flat metal. I spun toward my left again as I came to the end of the rail, making myself land fakie. I couldn't hide a small smile as I nailed it. Stoked, I kick-turned myself 180 degrees and pumped myself to the edge of the park's bowl.

My board hovered over the coping; I put my front foot over the bolts, my weight forcing the board to let go of the rim and tear down the massive cement transition. I flew up the other side and stalled at the top before sending myself back into the pit. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I gained celerity and excitement, carving the bowl continuously. I slammed the tail into one of my hardest pops ever, ollieing out of the bowl and into the air. I grabbed the deck between my feet, putting myself into the novel indie. I landed with a slight wobble, but still glad I didn't wipe out. I continued down the slope and up again, attempting to lipside the steel railing. Lifting my nose up slightly, I tried to bring my board onto the trick. I failed, painfully. The board rocketed up high and I was sent back to the bottom of the rock-hard pool. Groaning, I got up to go again. Finally, as my legs began to burn mercilessly, I rolled out and flopped over on my back, catching lost breath.

I got up and rode around for a bit more, loving how nice it was that I was the only one there. I had school tomorrow, so I forfeited the idea of skating until 'past my bedtime' for my body's sake. Even though I hated my school and everything about it, I'd only skipped it altogether a few times. My parents had removed all hope of me ever seeing my friends- former now, they've probably forgotten all about me- again, as I had been forced to run off to Swank-Turner Prep. Now, I had taken up skating to occupy my empty life. It wasn't that everyone at STP didn't know me. Well, they didn't know me, but they also couldn't stand me and my scholarshipness.

Now, my sole companion had hit rock bottom, her mother's absence looming over all else.

Although my mind now was preoccupied with the thought of school the next day and wishing I had never tried to lipside, the death would stick to me for months afterwards.

My house was about 5 miles from the park; I stuck my headphones in my ears and rode off on the sidewalk, singing along loudly to Anti-Flag. The mid-afternoon sun beat down heavily upon my diminished Sunday. Skating temporarily off-set the news, but I couldn't hold myself in denial forever. Houses lined the streets, barely ten feet from each other, reminding me of New York City even though I was in the middle of Missouri.

I neared my own house and wondered why my parents ever chose such a bad neighborhood, in such a stupid town in the most boring state possible. I missed my old house in Vermont, where hills and mountains rose above everything else and nothing bad ever happened. I wasn't even sure if a 'bad neighborhood' existed in Ludlow, my former town. Apart from the fact the High School there was made up of only 600 people and the Middle School containing even less, there was a thriving community. It seemed practically everyone knew each other.

Now, I was thrown into a lion's den of hicks and gangsters and snots, depending exactly where I was in the city. I could swear to God that this place is the leading cause of global warming, considering the words 'fresh air' hardly exists here. But, whatever.


End file.
